


To Find a Place One can call Home

by Ember_Eyes_are_for_Tigers



Series: Chronicles of a Heartbroken Few [4]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, Cornelius deserves better, Delearys deserves better, Faerryn deserves better, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Machelle deserves better, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sal going around trying to comfort his friends that are all going through trauma, accidental adoption, its all because of the Aderyn’s, thats it thats the whole fic, the Aderyn’s are assholes, the Dad Sal fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24605101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ember_Eyes_are_for_Tigers/pseuds/Ember_Eyes_are_for_Tigers
Summary: It’s been nearly a year since Sal Devon Archibald Van Dolion of Musicals stumbled in the city of Newsprings, craving an adventure or a distraction. And, it’s been nearly one year since he met a group of adventurers that may, or may not, have ended up saving his times a couple of times.As they’re now treading through the aristocratic Elven Estates, where the only real danger seems to be politics and secrets, Sal may have just realised that he cares more than he would like to have let on.aka, let Sal Devon Archibald Van Dolion of Musicals be emotionally vulnerable 2k20
Relationships: Cornelius | James & Sal Devon Archibald Van Dolion of Musicals, Delearys of Aderyn & Sal Devon Archibald Van Dolion of Musicals
Series: Chronicles of a Heartbroken Few [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607527
Comments: 12
Kudos: 5





	1. Delearys (of Aderyn)

**Author's Note:**

> In the tags I wrote that Delearys, Cornelius, Faerryn and Machelle all deserve better and- they do, except I’m also the reason why they’re suffering so horribly 
> 
> Anyway, all characters except Delearys of Aderyn, Cornelius (no surname), Faerryn Stamen Limu and Machelle Rowena Renay are mine- those four are, in fact, my amazing friends’ OCs (which I enjoy hurting during my weekends)
> 
> This is a fic based on a D&D campaign I DM, and play as Sal (it's a long story)- so, let me explain the various Elven Estates and the different Elven subraces I have created for this world:
> 
> Rich High Elves (which means they're not mixed) at a certain point in history decided to isolate themselves from the "lesser" Elves, this caused the Elves Estates- every estate has cities and towns and has a High Elven family to govern it. These families are:  
> The Aderyn's, the Flame Elves - Delearys was the heir before getting disowned, the capital is Gideon  
> The Inajeon's, the Wood Elves - with Queen Sandrayal, the capital is Avruacnard  
> The Morvalur's, the Lore Elves - Thalaniel (an NPC) is part of the royal family, the capital is Balsey  
> The Ocinth's, the Ice Elves - Loratris (an NPC) comes from here, the capital is Laco  
> The Oloyra's, the Moon Elves - gay disaster Elaniel (an NPC) is the Head of the Estate, the capital is Illesall  
> The Dalynn's, the Sun Elves - the capital is Zota  
> The Eladove's, the Tide Elves - the twin capitals are Ruham and Kuham  
> And, last, but, not least the Sarsys' - the only good person of that family is Ariora (an NPC) who escaped, the capital is Xiwell

He and Delearys travelled North, far more North than what Sal Devon Archibald Van Dolion of Musicals had ever wished to travel, towards the city of Balsey, where the family of Morvalur reigned over the most elite of the Lore High Elves. Or, the Lore Elves that didn’t have their elven, precious blood tainted by any other type of elf. 

However, as he rode next to her, he tried his best to be careful around her.

Sal had to admit that he had never found himself in the situation Delearys was currently facing, being exiled from her childhood home, her dignity and honour being stripped away from her until even her own name had lost meaning.

He didn't feel guilty. Even when the aftermath of what had happened fully crashed against them, Delearys dishonored, exiled and sporting short hair. Which, with only having the vaguest of clues about the elven culture she grew in, was, perhaps, an even greater dishonor than your father screaming at you to run away and to never be seen again. The mere thought of that horrid screech and the hatred that had began burning in the eyes of the disgusting creature in the clothes of an elven man, made Sal’s blood boil in his veins. 

He did not regret his words, no matter the cost, as he had merely spoken the truth about the hero his daughter was growing to be. About who she really was and deserved to be- although, he may have left his short temperament get the better of him in that moment.

With a quick glance at Delearys and her face still soaked in tears, it wasn’t hard to recognise the grief and devastation she was going through. 

Sal had lost his family slowly, not all at once like she did, and he had stuffed all of his feelings, all of the tears and the resentment away- until it came crashing back down at him. And when that had happened it hadn’t been a pretty sight to behold.

But, for both of them Gely- _he_ had been the common element in both of their situations.

Either way, Sal could attest that, even for Delearys, it wasn’t a pleasant experience either. From being a strong, awfully stubborn and surprisingly bright Paladin, she had closed in herself, becoming a mere shell.

If she had once been the one that would continuously push Cornelius to eat more than an apple and to scold Cornelius when they discovered him sneaking out at night _again,_ even after being one step from being thrown into jail for forty or more years. Now it seemed that she barely even cared

She barely ate, barely talked and barely slept. It was an eerie experience to be with her, and not for the first time, he felt a pang of gratitude for Nevithra. 

They spent days riding their stolen horses in silence, if it wasn’t for Sal talking. Which, was surprising even for him.

When they were a mere couple of hours away from Gideon, still too close for Sal to feel safe and already too distant to the horizon for Deleary’s liking, they rode in a deafening silence. Both with emotions pumping in their veins and too many thought to even make a sense of them.

However, even after hours, tears wouldn’t stop flowing down Delearys’ face, as she continued to clutch Hero, her brother’s, Benyamin, sword with pale fingers. From what Sal had seen less than a week ago, during the quick encounter they had had with some kenku’s, the sword was a powerful weapon. 

Although, for Delearys’ it must have held a more sentimental value.

He might have started talking because he wasn’t as heartless as he had hoped to be, and he did indeed view Delearys as a friend. Or, perhaps, he had started talking because of a more selfish reason. The quiet sobs and the rythmic sound of the horses’ hooves hitting the hard dirt path becoming unbearable. 

“Lately, I’ve been working on a… passion project, one could call it. Although, by being a Bard it would make it… work, I guess. However, by being an adventurer… and now diplomat, it would indeed make it more of a passion project,” he started,

“It’s a composition, nothing too fancy or elaborate, which would probably delight my old teacher back at Bard school. They would often have to sit me down and tell me that I was being overly ambitious in my homework, and that they didn’t care if it was the best ballad that ever existed, they just wanted me to give back my homework on time, and to to not run myself down to the bone by making things harder for myself,”

Sal maintained his eyes strictly on the horizon in front of them, not quite believing what he was saying, or to who he was saying them to. 

Not that Delearys was bad, but, he had never been fond abou talking about his past, or about anything personal. So, he did feel like he deserved a round of applause for being so open.

Delearys had stopped crying somewhere along his words, even though her hold on her sword had not lessened and her eyes were still trained in front of her, seemingly not registering her surroundings.  
“They were right of course, I knew it too. A bit. But, it didn’t stop: I was far more ambitious at the time, I really wanted to prove myself,” a strained chuckle escaped from his lips, “must be honest, may have been my downfall. I spent so many hours practising and composing and working that I… _lost track_ of the world around me, about who was around me and who _wasn’t_. When I finally realised, it was too late for certain people and I ended up… not being cautious enough and throwing myself into the first dangerous thing that happened to me,”

He shrugged, “it wasn’t all bad, though. I became good friends with most of my teachers, especially Nevithra. She may not look like it, but, she could easily take down Asmodeus or whoever she wanted. Probably the best Bard I know, after myself of course,”

Sal went on for hours, mostly talking about his school years and about how if he didn’t skip classes to go and practise his bagpipes he was sneaking out to smoke weed. He did smoke it with teachers, but, it didn’t feel important to mention how much of a nerd he had been.

By the time he had stopped talking the sun had already set, bringing a warm night upon them as they managed to find what felt like a secure enough place to rest for the night.

Gideon was now far too distant to be seen and although that brought a wave of tranquility over Sal, it didn’t seem to have the same effect on Delearys, who shrunk in on herself, clinging to the sword as if it were a lifeline. Seeing her in such state made Sal want to continue talking, to provide a distraction or _something_ to crack the shell she had turned into. 

However, his throat begged to differ.

And, so, he sat with his back leaning on a tree watching the fire he had lit stutter in the faint, but, pleasant breeze that was passing. He didn’t realise how close Delearys was sat next to him, until he felt a head on his shoulder.

It surprised him how he didn’t feel startled by the touch, or, how normal and accustomed he was to being leaned on, relied on. 

He shuffled his cloak, an old thing he had forgotten where he had got it from, so that it would cover Delearys too and, after softly pressing his lips to her forehead, he just said:

“Don’t worry, I’ll take watch tonight,”

When they finally reached Basley and met back up with Faerryn and Cornelius, he left himself crumble on the bed of the inn, closing his eyes for the first time in three days. 


	2. (Thief, Murderer) Cornelius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows that sleeping in summer is horrible, that and realising that a kid is deeply traumatised. Especially, when you realise that the kid that is deeply traumatised might as well be your own.
> 
> aka Cornelius is young and I don't care what you say Andreas, he may be an adult, but, he is still up for adoption. So, take these forms you bastard (jk, ur amazing, Andreas)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cornelius is my friend Andreas' character, he's baby, yes, he murdered twelve people, I don't care he's baby
> 
> This chapter is the reason why I tagged this fic with Accidental Adoption, so, beware feelings

It was a warm summer night, where every movement felt labored by the humid air, and you would spend hours staring into the darkness of your room listening intently to the surrounding world that never seems to sleep. 

And, as every summer night Sal Devon Archibald Van Dolion of Musicals found himself wide awake, eyes closed as he tried to ignore the warmth of the bodies next to him and his racing thoughts. Hoping that if he faked being asleep for long enough, he would fall into slumber.

However, hours had already passed by and he was as far away as falling asleep as he had been when they had left Delearys in the room and went to the dinner with the Morvalur royal family. Which had been just as tedious as he had expected.

What hadn’t been expected, though, was what had happened before they left Delearys in the inn’s room. The confrontation that Faerryn, with his help, had forced Cornelius into.

Sal had already known of Cornelius’ crimes, Faerryn having told him beforehand when she asked for advice and- there was a part of him that felt guilty for having forced Cornelius to face three adults alone, two of which already bitter and frustrated. 

Faerryn had just lost her family, or so he had understood. None of them had explained much since they had returned from Merrowport and he wasn’t one that would go around prying for information he had no right in knowing about. 

And, Delearys too had just lost her family. Not by death or by some external evil force, but, by being kicked out. 

They were both full of resentment and Cornelius, young and at certain times even naive, was the perfect outlet for this. Twelve people was a lot, Sal knew this well, especially for such a young person to have killed.

He had just stood there, eyes downcast and afraid to look at them, fidgeting with the elegant elven robes they had bought him just a couple hours prior, mumbling about those twelve people. Those twelve murders he had done and that he could not remember having committed. 

In Sal’s eyes he had never looked so young, so terrified and so small. 

Cornelius had been  _ so small, _ and  _ so fragile _ in that moment. And, for some reason that made Sal petrified. 

He wanted to protect this tiny half elf kid, who looked that had never hit puberty, and wanted to keep him safe no matter the cost. And, for some reason, the knowledge that he cared for deeply for this scrawny thief was far more scary than when he had been nearly stabbed to death.

~~ Although, to be fair, he did still have nightmares of tasting death on his lips and trying not to cry as he felt himself lose consciousness. He still had  _ so much to do, he still had to finish the lyrics of that song, he still had so many stories to sing about, he still had to talk with Alye and not just constantly send him letters without ever explaining anything- _ ~~

He let a sweaty hand pass across his face, as he tried to stifle a groan.  _ Was this how it felt to be a parent? _

Sal had never thought of becoming a father, or a dad. 

He had always explained his reasoning as being that he was already a barely functional adult and, to take the responsibility of another creature, one that was so vulnerable and so malleable, was inconceivable. The thought of fucking up an entire person because he was a terrible person that made horrible decisions and mistakes, wasn’t something he was particularly keen on.

Besides, he had never liked kids.

And, while that was still true, when he turned around to see if Cornelius was  ~~ having problems with ~~ sleeping too, he couldn’t stop a wave of affection from knocking the air out of his lungs. 

Cornelius was having a restless night himself. 

He was in fetal position, his short brown hair sticking to his forehead from the overbearing heat, and his star freckled tattoos were shining in the dark, glinting with unknown magic. And, once again, he looked awfully young.

Sal would have hugged him and held him close and  _ safe  _ in a heartbeat, right then and there, if it wasn’t for the heat. Instead, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, unbeknownst that by doing so his mind would whisper in his ear:

_ Did he look so young and innocent when he had murdered those twelve people? _

Suddenly, he felt his run go cold and not by any sort of charm or spell.  _ What had pushed Cornelius into committing such actions?  _

Sal found himself without an answer to either question. He didn’t know what was happening, if he should fear Cornelius and the secrets that he hadn’t told them, or if he should fear  _ for  _ Cornelius. 

And, of course, him recognising the symbol of the silver eye crying flowers wasn’t reassuring. 

He wanted answers, all of them did and, especially, Cornelius, although he doubted he could just storm in and require information from her. Information that she probably didn’t even have access to, if she was still alive that was.

That train of thought didn’t help calm his nerves. He opened his eyes, scanning for any sudden change in the frail figure next to him. 

Behind him he could feel Faerryn wrestling with his hair in her sleep and Delearys snoring softly. He exhaled.

They were alright. Nothing was going to happen to them, or, at least, he would try his best not to make anything happen to them. 

Although, his best varied greatly, his mind supplied, and since they deserved the best, why should he even try?

He shut off that train of thought too, sighing quietly as his gaze fell on an anonymous spot on the wall behind Cornelius.

When had he started caring about their well-being? 

He knew he had realised that he cared about Cornelius just a couple of hours prior. When he was standing alone, in a manner that made his heart ache with memories, and spilling his secrets he hadn’t known he had.  ~~ That’s amnesia for you. ~~

With Delearys… they had just left the tiny inn just outside of the central hub of Gideon, having just watched Faerryn, Cornelius, Machelle and the new kid that seemed to enjoy exploding things. When they had turned around, they both saw the looming figure of the castle where the Aderyn’s resided.

They had gripped each other’s hands and had started walking, because when you’re facing even your worst of fears you need to put a foot in front of the other and face them. Which had been a first for him.

~~ He had always been a coward. ~~

Maybe it had been the fear that had coiled itself around Sal’s heart and instinct of survival of the pack had taken over, or maybe it had been the moment when he understood that whatever he did he would never be as strong as Delearys. However, when with his peripheral vision he caught eye of her, he knew that if he was going to walk out of there alive he would take her with him. Because she deserved a happy ending.

And, so did Cornelius.


	3. Faerryn (Druid, Sister)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's as they're traveling down to the Inajeon's Estate, the territory of Queen Sandrayal the famous Druid, that Sal starts thinking about Faerryn. Mostly how she too may be letting her emotions obscure her judgment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE PREMISE   
> All characters are flawed (they wouldn't be interesting otherwise) and Faerryn is currently grieving, so, she's making doubtful choices and while Sal understand this he's also trying to see Faerryn's point of view.
> 
> Anyway, this may be my longest chapter yet and after this I may be going on a hiatus or something. For various reasons, one because I have no clue what to write for the final chapter (because you're never going to catch me writing Sal on the recieving end of the comfort in hurt/comfort) and second is because I've hit an emotional stump that basicaly means I cannot create anything for a couple of days at the very least
> 
> Faerryn is my friends' @MissMariel's character and she's wonderful, truly

Faerryn is grieving and it’s terrible. Both for her and the people that surround her.

That much is clear even to Sal Devon Archibald Van Dolion of Musicals, who has never been known for being observant or keen. 

And, yet he finds himself recognising ever so often the gaze she moves towards the horizon, pained but hopeful, as if she’s waiting for someone she has already lost hope on to come and save her. And the brittle mask she started wearing around them, a tight smile but, expressionless, nonetheless. That is not quite enough to hide the fact that she is drowning in her overbearing thoughts, memories and feelings.

He began recognising these actions ( ~~ that remind him of countless sleepless nights and the aching to run away, as far as his legs could carry him ~~ ) between the moment she returned from Merrowport, Delearys, Cornelius, Machelle and human man with blond hair in tow, and when they began their journey towards east, towards the Elven Estates. Already at the time there was a curious tension, mostly around Cornelius and Faerryn, one that although Sal recognised as existing, he wasn’t quite sure how to confront. 

_ Nine Hells _ , in the entire situation he had no idea how to approach anything. 

At the beginning he didn’t know if he should ask about Aven, that purple tiefling guy, not that he particularly cared- the guy always tended to insult him and neither of them were fond of each other. However, none of them spoke about him and Sal just placed the question on top of the now growing pile.

In Aven’s place, though, Alye Crysalker had appeared. And, alright, Sal wasn’t one to complain about mysterious hot men appearing out of nowhere, but, the situation was odd.

And, then, before they started their trip, he had caught some rumors through the corridors of the Guild. Most of them were unreliable, but, in the gossips he had managed to understand a couple of things:

Faerryn was very close to her family and something terrible had happened to them.

Faerryn had a grandfather, he died in her arms. Or, she killed him in her arms. He wasn’t quite sure which one was true. 

And, somehow, it’s Cornelius’ fault or, at least, for Faerryn it is. 

Which brought them back to the tension during the trip, the glares she would throw in his direction after he said something stupid and she thought no one was watching, and the confrontation that she had forced Cornelius into. 

That night had been the climax, the focal point of so many events and actions- most of them which Sal didn’t even have a name for. However, as he looked in the night at Faerryn’s figure, sat against a tree, days later as they were close enough to the Inajeon’s territory that they could see the trees that seemed to reach for sky, he doubted that it did any good to her. 

She looked calm, breathing slowly and taking in the warm summer night. Her hair, usually held in a ponytail, now was free, floating around her. 

The fire they had lit hours prior, was now forgotten at the centre of camp, the light sizzling being the only sound in the tranquil silence. And, the only light from which Faerryn could use to see. Not having darkvision must be horrible.

And, yet, as Sal sat, against the tree, glancing around for anything dangerous or peculiar (although, his eyes often fell on the tent they had set and on Faerryn’s quiet figure, a worried expression never leaving his face) he found himself wanting to break the silence. Ask even one of the questions that had began piling up throughout these months.

As he was about to open his mouth, though, a quiet, barely perceptible sniffle, reached his ears. His eyes, that were previously staring unfocused at a section of a tree trunk, flew towards Faerryn. 

She was still sat against the tree, but, now she had her legs close to her chest and had her head in her arms, as if to muffle the sobs and tears that had begun. Her whole figure was shaking, trying to hold itself as quietly and contained as it could, as she let herself break for just a couple of minutes.

Without a word, Sal got up and sat next to her, already moving an arm to hold her in a sideways hug. 

She tensed, but, didn’t flinch ( ~~ at the contrary of Delearys and Cornelius, they both tended to flinch away from touch, and recently it had started to make his heart ache ~~ ), under his touch, letting herself be held, maybe for the first time in months.  ~~A part of him wondered what was the last time he let anyone hold him, but he silenced that part as soon as it spoke up~~. 

As he held her he could feel her walls crumbling, she had been so careful and so wary and… he found himself proud of her, for being strong (although, Cornelius’ face that night was still clear as day in his mind) and yet a part of him wanted for her walls to remain down. To let herself be helped, because she deserved to not be alone, even if she had lost everything. He knew how it felt and she  _ didn’t deserve it _ .

His mind went to the last night they spent in Balsey, the same night when Cornelius had to face, in front of him and Delearys, that he had murdered twelve people. 

Before the sun had rose, Sal had finally let himself fall in the grasp of sleep an arm still protectively around Cornelius, and Faerryn had slipped away. Somehow, even with his mind still stuffed with dreams, he had realised her actions and, although he had tried to confront her about it, he had been lulled once again to sleep. She returned an hour later, the smell of seaweed and salt seemingly being renewed.

Unconsciously, he held tighter to her and started humming, low, just for the two of them to hear, as she anguished about feelings he understood and memories he didn’t know of.

Soon Faerryn moved to hold him, her hands holding onto his shirt and nails digging into his flesh, desperate. So, as his shirt got stained with bitter tears, he hugged her and continued humming. He would hum and continue to do so even with a sore throat, if it helped Faerryn relax under his arms.  ~~ It felt like the least he could do. ~~

The wave of protectiveness, one that now felt more like a shield or a cloak that he could drape around his friends and had stopped feeling surprising and terrifying, returned. Though, now, it was a softer, quieter as the moment they were sharing. 

Hours went by, or maybe, it had just been a couple of minutes. It didn’t feel like it mattered, especially since the more time went by the more useless he felt. Which words could soothe her pain and relax her enough to go through another day? What could he say that could help her understand that everything would be alright, even if he didn’t know what had broken her this much?

And, while he didn’t know, Faerryn continued crying, shattering his heart, something he had sincerely hoped he had lost through the years. And, he hoped that Faerryn would never have to wish for her heart to not exist.

She was a Druid, she loved the world that surrounded her, the people that made the world worth living (or, so he guessed, he had no idea what the philosophy of Druid comprised of but Faerryn had always been kind and witty, so, it made sense)- so, for something to have broken her in a manner that made her wish she could not feel- Sal’s hum became a bit more louder, a bit more happy. And, he hoped that was enough.

~~ Because if that wasn’t enough and he would continue to fail… he would  _ destroy _ someone else, and not just a stranger but  _ Faerryn- _ he didn’t allow the thought to linger too long. Faerryn was going to be alright,  _ no matter what. _ ~~

It took some time for Faerryn’s devastated sobs to dwindle down and for her breath going from ragged to calm, but, as Sal didn’t stop humming and continued to rub her back, he felt her melt in the hug. Not a desperate anchor, just a comforting hug after a breakdown. 

~~ He was  _ so proud _ . ~~

He stopped rubbing her back, moving his arms to surrounded her fully, it surprised him to feel how she too was far smaller than him. Simultaneously he realised that he didn’t remember ever hugging her. And, especially not to comfort her.

Sal continued humming, not quite wanting to break the spell that had seemingly befallen on them, and not wanting Faerryn to leave his embrace. Call him selfish (and he certainly was), but, the instinct that craved to protect her wasn’t fond on leaving her alone once again. The contrary, actually.

They spent hours holding each other and at a certain, fleeting moment, Sal could have even sworn that he heard her hum along. Nevertheless, that might have been just a trick of his tired mind, exactly how his heart swelling up at the sound was just a mere trick.

It didn’t last forever, the spell had to be broken and, sooner than what Sal had found himself wishing for, Faerryn slowly moved away. And, as Sal dropped his arms, she readjusted herself on the grass, as if to make it seem like nothing had happened. She rubbed away her tears and she looked as if she had never cried at all, something that he would forever be jealous of water genasi for. 

Although, a little voice in the back of his mind, wondered how many times had she cried in secret and just hid it thanks to her heritage?

The night sky began to clear, giving forth to a clear blue sky, the sun rising in between the foliage of the forest at their side.

And, as if nothing had happened, he got up and continued to scrutinise their surroundings, promising himself, though, to try and protect Faerryn as much as he could.


	4. (Wizard, Tiger Knight) Machelle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sal is getting more stressed by the minute and Machelle sure isn't helping. Teenagers, am I right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only Ariora and Sal are my characters, the rest are my friends' (which, if you wanna read more you should click on their character tags because DAMN are they amazing characters and amazing friends)  
> tw for sex mention and implied bad/abusive childhood (really light, though)
> 
> This is the FIRST chaptered fic I have ever finished and Holy Shit, I genuinly didn't think I could make it- that said, I have also shortened this fic to four chapters instead of five because the fifth chapter wouldn't have made much sense storyline wise. But, I will probably be writing some sort of sequel when the necessary development will happen!  
> Which I'm really excited for  
> Also, this chapter has mostly been written between eleven and one am and has not been re-read or beta read, which, thanks to my disortography, may very well be this chapter's downfall

There were many things Sal Devon Archibald Van Dolion of Musicals was not expecting and one of them was for Machelle to become a tiger in front of his very eyes and then turn back into an elf. Her eyes sparkling with fear as Cornelius got off his horse and barrelled towards her, arms already wide open to hug her.

He quietly took note of the fear, hoping that in a state of lesser exhaustion he might come up with a way to approach her, as he followed Delearys and Faerryn towards Machelle. Having barely slept the prior night made it quite hard to comprehend perfectly what was happening, but, after they were sent to what looked like a dormitory, where Machelle loosely explained the current situation at their hands and after he was forced to remain there and catch up on his sleeping schedule, he felt like he had a vague clue of what was happening. A loose one, but, a clue nonetheless.

The Wind and Whispers Elves were manipulative bastards, exactly the sort of people he would expect Delearys’ family to find joy in staying around, and as Machelle had fled she got saved, or kidnapped (he still wasn’t quite sure, but, he had never been fond of authority, so, he was inclined to believe it was more of a kidnapping scenario) by Queen Sandrayal of Inajeon’s forces. And, after striking a rather suspicious deal with the Queen herself, Machelle had begun training with her knights. Oh, and somewhere along all those happenstances, Machelle had learnt how to become a _fucking_ _tiger_.

The same worry that had been clouding his mind for the past few weeks returned at full force, like a crashing wave forcing him deeper into the abyss of the sea, making him groggily complain out loud. If he was going to start greying soon, it was  _ their _ fault.

The rest of his party left the dormitory room, leaving him alone with his thoughts, and wishing him a good rest. 

He tried to suppress the spark of disdain- or maybe it was sadness? No,  _ disdain _ , at being left alone in an unfamiliar room carved into a single tree.  ~~ It wasn’t like they were leaving him, that they would turn him in or betray him, it wasn’t that they were purposely isolating him and leaving, right? ~~

~~ They were more prone to being in danger without him, but, they were all capable individuals, so, they shouldn’t have a problem, right? Although, that didn’t stop him from wishing he was there. ~~

Exhaustion clinged on him, like a cat with its claws out digging into his flesh, and making his very limbs feel too heavy to even move. Changing into more comfortable clothes felt impossible, even though he craved to feel the softer texture, and that meant that it was even harder to unbraid his dark hair.

He was far too tired to even try an unbraid his dark hair and to change into more comfortable clothes, so, as he heard footsteps growing more distant, he closed his eyes. His breath evened out as the exhaustion hit him, once again, like a fatal blow, bringing him to the brink of unconsciousness.

_ Hell, I hate falling asleep alone _ , was the last thought he had before he fell into Morpheus’ outstretched arms.

* * *

Sal wasn’t one to expect anything to be easy, curse him for always finding complex solutions to simple problem and for always making a situation worse by opening his mouth, but, he had been hoping that during their trip to Zota, the capital of the Dalynn’s Elven Estate, he would manage to talk with Machelle. 

Soon, however, he had realised how unsuccessful the mission was going to be.

Between Ariora’s merciless training and Machelle unique slipperiness (that she must have learnt and mastered from Cornelius, although he was always rather sloppy, as if he did want to talk, but, he was too scared to face them head on. So, he ended up dancing around them) in holding conversations about anything remotely personal, Sal had barely managed to pin her down. The situation only ended up aggravating furthermore when Faerryn and Cornelius decided they had enough of passive aggressiveness. 

They began fighting,  _ constantly _ , which had then derailed in an actual match that seemed to have no end (although, he had already bet two silvers that Cornelius would be the first to go down). On one side there was a grieving Faerryn, with her burning anger, and on the other side there was Cornelius who, Sal had realised, he had began withholding information from the group.  ~~ Which he could understand the motivation behind, nevertheless, that didn’t stop the nagging voice in his mind from saying that it was only a matter of time until the situation truly derailed . ~~

And, to make the trip in the Elven Estates resemble a nightmare even more, he and Ariora had ended up having to explain to Delearys sex. 

Between wondering what kind of fucking upbringing Delearys and Cornelius has gone through, worrying about the self destructive tendencies that seemed to run rampant in the party, Cornelius’ badly kept secrets and the fear that he had seen in both Machelle and Cornelius in a matter of just days- Sal found himself rather preoccupied by his own thoughts.

A happenstance that he was fairly used to, but, had to be careful or he might end up a week and half later, in the midst of a creative burnout, in his underwear screaming around his apartment.  _ Again _ .

He sighed, adjusting himself better on the wagon, behind him laid sprawled Faerryn and Cornelius who, even in their sleep, seemed to hold a grudge against each other. His eyes trained in front of him as he observed Ariora instructing the younger elf in the correct procedure of firing off an arrow with a crossbow.

Although, he had completely tuned out the conversation (besides why did he have to pay attention? Especially since he was neither a student or a man who had never shot a crossbow?) Delearys stood next to him, back leaning against the wagon, nodding every once in a while at the other’s words.

On her chest the necklace with the holy symbol of her deity glowed bright in the sun. 

For a moment he wondered if having stopped at the tiny sanctuary early that morning had helped her in any way. However, it took a quick observation of her relaxed pose, to understand that while she may not have received the answer she expected to hear, that was enough. For now.

~~ Sal had learnt that when talking about religion one could not trust anything and that nothing good ever came out of it. But, he respected Delearys. ~~

His gaze returned back to Machelle and, although she had grown a couple of centimetres since he had last seen her, she still looked tiny, and innocent, and far too young to be a part of an elite team of tiger knights for an immortal Elven Queen.

A part of him started wondering how Machelle was taking it, she didn’t seem disturbed by turning into a tiger, only scared. Although, she always looked mostly undisturbed by the wild, and often dangerous, events at which she was subjected too. 

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. Machelle didn’t talk about her feelings, exactly like the rest of the party, however, she was also far quieter in her experiencing emotions than the rest of the party. It would take a ramble from Cornelius, or the way how Delearys would grip her sword and clench her teeth, or even how Faerryn would straighten her back and turn ever so slightly towards an exit, for Sal to understand that they were scared. But, Machelle?

She would quieten up, her eyes growing wider and maybe a whisper of a swearword would slip out. Which wasn’t far different from her usual self.

She hid herself behind a shield. As if by becoming smaller, quieter and more vulnerable might save her from impending doom. He could relate, to a certain extent, and a part of him remained horrified at that.

Usually Sal wouldn’t mind seeing himself in other people (or, at least, that was what he told himself), however, tracking Machelle to his younger self in such a clear line that could not be dismissed as a simple coincidence, made his blood freeze in his veins. 

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck _ -

The fear in Machelle’s eyes he had seen just a couple of days prior burned into his mind.

He moved his gaze at the two sleeping figures behind him. Which didn’t seem to help his current state, as his heart only clenched seeing the two as distant to each other as they physically could. 

Sighing, he turned back to look at Machelle and Ariora, who had now stepped back, giving the younger elf free space to shoot her arrow.

“I- I’m worried,”

“About Cornelius?” answered Delearys, her gaze not shifting from the lesson.

“No, I think. Mostly about Machelle,”

“She isn’t the one who murdered twelve people, Sal,”

“Sure. But, she is the one that is currently training with your childhood best friend who escaped from her crazy manipulative family and the one who got turned into a tiger lycanthrope. Tiger-thrope? Half elf, half tiger?” Then in a quieter tone he added, “Would that make her a half elf too?”

Delearys stiffened. She always did and Sal didn’t know why he kept trying, to be completely honest.

“Might talk to her, afterwards. As we’re going,” he shifted in his seat, balancing his bagpipes better on his leg, “Don’t want to scare her off, she already looks scared most of the time,”

Finally Delearys turned towards him, green eyes observing him, taking him a part, as if trying to understand of he were lying or playing a role.

“Are you sure you want to talk with her?” 

Sal shrugged and nodded,

“How bad can it be, right? It’s not like there are hundreds of books that teach you how to talk with teens, or anything,”

Delearys snorted unamused and returned to staring at the lesson, probably taking in the calmness of the moment.

Sal turned too, but, as he followed the arrow piercing through the air and ending against soft soil, his thoughts began racing outside of his reach. He was going to mess this up, he knew it and so did Delearys (if she hadn’t thought that he was joking), and yet he couldn’t stop himself from rehearsing his words.

* * *

Sal, also, wasn’t expecting for Machelle to be an actual teenager who refused to talking about the possible trauma she was going through or that she had endured. And, honestly? This was on him.

He should have bought a couple of “Talking to Teens, a Guide for Dummies” or something along those lines, before initiating a conversation with her. Should have tried being less anxious and more risolute, or- 

He wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to be even doing. 

He realised that he hadn’t gotten what he wanted, at all. Not Machelle opening up or even coming closer to understand what had happened. 

Sal didn’t have the faintest clue and all that he wanted to do was to fall in the dirt, face first, and cry from frustration. 

Which he refrained from doing as he let Machelle pass in from of him with her horse. Faerryn and Cornelius were still fast asleep in the wagon and he wasn’t keen on learning if they were light sleepers.

So, he kept the wagon on the road, throwing quick glances at the two sleeping behind, and tried to ignore the voice in his mind that asked:

_ Why are you even trying? _

Although, he knew the answer, he still couldn’t stomach to actually respond.


End file.
